


Guilt Trips and Magic Tricks

by athousandelegies



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:54:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/athousandelegies/pseuds/athousandelegies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale reminds Crowley of an old debt to get the demon to participate in his magic show. Just a quick bit of fluff, really.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilt Trips and Magic Tricks

“Crowley—” 

“No.”

“But dear, it’s to raise money for—”

“ _No_.”

“It might be fun, you—”

“Angel, I said _no_ , and there’s no way in hell—er, no way on earth you can make me change my mind. Give it a rest already.”

Aziraphale huffed, crossing his arms and turning pointedly away from the demon to stare moodily out the window.

“Oh no, not the cold shoulder, anything but that,” Crowley scoffed sarcastically. “Really, you’re going to have to get a little more creative if you want to coerce favors out of a demon.”

Aziraphale said nothing, just continued to glare at the cars passing by beyond the glass as if each and every one of them had wronged him personally.

“Whatever, angel, you know it’s useless. Remember that time back in the fifteenth century when you blamed me for that girl’s execution, what was her name? Joan?—and I’ll tell you again, I had _nothing_ to do with that, your accusation was completely unfair—and you refused to talk to me for decades? You didn’t see me come begging for you to talk to me, did you? Definitely not.” He leaned back in his chair and propped his snakeskin-clad feet on the table, an action he knew got on the angel’s nerves. “Give me the silent treatment as long as you want, we both know you’ll cave first.” Smugly, he poured himself some more wine.

“Yep, it was you who came crawling back to me,” he mused, idly swirling the wine in his glass. “When was it, 1485? Some fifty years of refusing to talk to me, and then out of the blue you carry out a one-man invasion of the Toledo prison to rescue me from that bloody Inquisition business…Guess you just couldn’t bear to go another decade without my charming company.”

Ugh, the Inquisition. He’d hightailed it out of Spain after that fiasco, and hadn’t revisited the country for centuries afterward. “…I thanked you for that whole rescuing thing, right?” he added carelessly, as an afterthought.

Aziraphale was still pouting and peering sullenly out the window, but suddenly his expression changed. He turned to Crowley, who didn’t like the look of the angel’s smile one bit. It was a decidedly un-angelic sort of smile, he thought.

“Well no, my dear boy, I can’t say you ever _did_ thank me,” Aziraphale said innocently. “If only there were some way you could show your gratitude, hmm?”

Oh come on, the rumple-winged bastard was guilt-tripping him now? Well, it _wasn’t_ going to work. He was a demon, he didn’t _do_ guilt.

“And I mean, not to grumble or anything, my dear, but it did take me quite a bit of effort…I had to break into the jail, pluck you out from the clutches of those torture-crazed nutters—risking discorporation all the while, I’ll add—smuggle you out of Toledo, nurse you back to health, and all without a word of thanks…”

Over the top of his sunglasses, Crowley fixed his counterpart with a glare that could have reduced most beings to a pile of smoldering ash. The angel gazed serenely back, utterly unfazed.

“… _Fine_ ,” Crowley snarled. “Just, no handkerchief trick this time, all right? And for your own sake, keep the ridiculous banter to a minimum.”

Aziraphale beamed at him, all sparkling blue eyes and glowing golden locks, and Crowley irritably downed the rest of his wine. Who knew an angel could be so manipulative?

* * *

 

A week later, Aziraphale stood before a well-sized crowd in his old magician’s frock and cape, his top hat perched precariously on top of his unruly curls. 

“And now for my next trick!” He swept the hat off his head with a flourish and presented it to his audience. “Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, observe! Here I have an ordinary top hat, no strings attached, no smoke and mirrors, as you like to say. …But what’s this noise I hear? _Hissing_? Golly, doesn’t that sound just like…” he reached into the depths of the hat, and pulled out coil after scaly coil—much more than would have been able to fit in the hat if the the laws of physics had been obeyed, “a sneaky snake! You sly thing, how long were you hiding in there, I do wonder!”

The spectators perked up, and some even applauded politely; this act was certainly an improvement over the previous ones, especially the trick with the coin. What in the world was a “thrup-penny,” anyhow?

“Ah, yes, a smashing miracle, if I may say so myself! And for my younger and more easily alarmed members of the audience, have no fear—he’s perfectly harmless, aren’t you, Crawly?” The serpent emitted a threatening-sounding hiss, but Aziraphale only chuckled. “He’s a charmed snake, come all the way from the exotic and mystical land of India—watch now, as he makes his way through these obstacles and into that box over there.”

“Is this a magic show or the bloody circusss, angel?” the snake hissed softly as it made its way through several hoops.

“Just keep going, my dear, you’re doing wonderfully,” the angel murmured encouragingly. “Into the box you go.”

It was a large crate, and after the serpent had slithered in Aziraphale closed the lid. “Now, my dear friends, for my final act of the evening, I have a secret to share! That wasn’t, in fact, a snake at all, but a man enchanted! Prepare to be amazed; I’ll just tap the box now, like so…and, behold!”

He lifted the lid dramatically, and from the crate a man-shaped being unfolded himself, smoothing out his jacket as he stood.

The audience murmured in approval—now _that_ was a magic trick. They applauded, wholeheartedly this time.

Aziraphale’s smile filled his entire face, and he bowed again and again. “Come now, dear, you bow too!” Crowley rolled his eyes, but he complied. It wasn’t every day the angel pulled off a magic show that didn’t end in embarrassing disaster or utter chaos.

* * *

 

Crowley helped the angel pack up his props and load them into the back of the Bentley. 

“I think I’m getting better, don’t you? My coin trick especially went splendidly—and you, of course, the crowd loved you, my dear. But oh, did you see, I did the trick with the interlocking rings perfectly…” Crowley did his best to appear bored as the angel rambled on, but a small, affectionate smile gave him away.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s enough chatter, you promised me dinner, remember? Let’s get going, I’m starving.”

“Ah, yes. I was thinking we could do that Indian place in Westfield, we haven’t been there in a while, and I know how you like spicy foods.”

“Sounds good,” he said, “hop in, angel.”

As he started up the engine, he glanced at his companion and sighed. “You’re going to wear that into the restaurant?”

“Why not?” Aziraphale said defensively. “It’s classy.”

“Why don’t you leave off the top hat at least.”

“Are you joking? The hat is the best part!” Noting the demon’s exasperated look, he decided to compromise: “I’ll take off the cape, will that do?”

Crowley sighed. That was as good as it was going to get, he could tell. “All right, angel.”

 “…And, Crowley? Thank you for humouring me, dear.”

“Any time, angel,” Crowley said, grinning genially; then he remembered himself. “Well, scratch that, _not_ any time. Never again, actually. But, you know…you’re welcome.”


End file.
